


Somnolence

by Teenyttt



Series: Opuscules [4]
Category: No Fandom
Genre: A knife!, Itsa Mario, Itsa scare, Itsa spook, Jack whatchu got there?, Short Story, Sleep Paralysis, cue epic bass music - Freeform, its just Jack, its not, no!, sneeping away whilst someone krills him, sneepy John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25013254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teenyttt/pseuds/Teenyttt
Summary: Somnolence [Noun]: the feeling of wanting to sleep, or the state of almost sleeping.Source: Cambridge Dictionary
Series: Opuscules [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1253276
Kudos: 1





	Somnolence

The coffin is soft, warm and cosy. Ready to envelop a rattled body, so worn out from the terrors of the day, so eager to seek out comfort and shelter from the darkness of the night.

John clambers onto the white satin sheets, positioning himself in the way he finds most comfortable and closes his heavy-lidded eyes. He goes to sleep. And he dream.

He dreams of wild grass, pollen in the wind, and flowers still wet with morning dew beneath his feet. He dreams of a fresh spring, splashes of water sprinting down moss-covered rocks, leading him to the noise and chatter of humankind downstream.

He dreams of people, a home, a community, a kingdom; so closely knit that he seemed to know everyone, and everyone knew him.

He dreams of a castle, an old stone fortress, steadfast and grounded, the kingdom's people flocking to see its majesty. 

He dreams of a march, of kingdoms against kingdoms, soldiers against soldiers, people against people. Kings with the red metal of their greedy swords lifted high, glinting in the sun; corpses upon corpses mounted in heaps; the living, dying and dead all crumbled together; the stone heads upon grass mounds, of which sheep graze on; the settling of a once restless wind, now devoid of the musty tang of iron.

He dreams of a weight upon his shoulders, the likes of those he had never felt before. He dreams of cementing in concrete, unable to move even a muscle. He dreams of a stress, a feeling that pulled him deeper, heavier than gravity itself.

He dreams of a black figure above him, emotionless, faceless, its body like blocks of stone, pinning his down. Its hand holding a cold gleaming knife poised high above.

John dreams but his eyes are open.

A scream is in order, but he finds his throat dry, and gasping for air. His finger refuses to lift, and his eyes cannot turn from the faceless stare that locks his gaze. 

Blink.

He lifts his hand, running it through cool air, free to move, unrestricted by the unknown. His heart thumps wildly, threatening a heart attack right then and there.

It vanished, and John is alone in his room. Alone and cold and very much terrified. His breath is rapid, but slows over time.

John is calm. John is alone and cold. He ducks under the duvet and rests his head on the familiar cushion.

But his eyes won’t shut. His mind won’t stop thinking. His heartbeat is slow, but deafening, and every beat seems to echo around the room. But no one except John is there to hear it.

No one except John, and those who watch him.


End file.
